


A Cold Case

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don't Post To Another Site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mark Gatiss Birthday Auction 2019, Sick Character, Sick Fic, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Greg is never ill... well, almost never. Mycroft has a very difficult time persuading him this might be the case.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 24
Kudos: 170
Collections: Mark Gatiss birthday collection 2019, Mystrade Sickfics / Hurt-Comfort Collection





	A Cold Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trillian_jdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/gifts).



> Written for trilian_jdc as part of the Mark Gatiss Birthday Auction. Thank you for generously donating and bidding on this writer. I hope you enjoy it. :)
> 
> Thank you to Antheas_Blackberry my ever supportive beta.

_Sniff… sniff… eh-hem… sniff… sniff…_

Mycroft glanced over from his side of the bed as Greg cleared his throat yet again. He gave a particularly hard snuffle and continued to scroll through the TV channels.

“Would you care for a tissue?” Mycroft offered.

“Nah, m’fine.” Greg coughed lightly and sniffled again.

Mycroft was unconvinced, but went back to his book.

Greg gave up on his search for late night TV. “Nothing but shite,” he muttered and got out of bed heading to the loo. He came back a few minutes later with a cup of water. “It’s really dry in here tonight, don’t you think?”

“No, I hadn’t noticed.” Mycroft looked carefully at his partner. “You’re sounding a bit stuffy. Perhaps you’re coming down with something?”

“Me?” Greg laughed. “I’m never sick. I’ve the constitution of an ox.”

Mycroft had to concede he’d only seen Greg ill once in the time they’d been together, and certainly not since they moved in together. Whereas, Mycroft had at least two colds in the last six months and last year he managed to get the flu, despite having had his jab.

“It’s just the dry air. We should have the humidifier on the furnace checked out.” Greg cleared his throat again and took a drink of water, before settling into bed.

“Are you sure? You did spend a good deal of time out in the rain this evening.”

“Love,” Greg murmured affectionately. “You worry too much.” Greg leaned over and kissed his lover’s cheek. “G’night.” He huddled down under the duvet.

Mycroft put away his book and turned off his light. “Good night, dear.” He curled around Greg; tonight he was the big spoon.

“Mm… you’re warm.” Greg shivered in Mycroft’s arms.

Mycroft frowned, but held his tongue.

* * *

Mycroft stared at the ceiling. Sleep was nowhere to be had for him tonight as Greg snorted and snuffled next to him. Mycroft reached for his mobile and angrily poked it awake.

2:05 am

* You’re dead to me. –MH *

2:05 am

* I’ll be removing you from my will later this morning. –MH *

2:06 am

* I’m telling Mummy about what happened to her curtains last Christmas. –MH *

2:08 am

* I’m in bed. What could I’ve possibly done? –SH *

2:08 am

* I can’t sleep and I blame you. –MH *

2:09 am

* I don’t see how that is my fault or my problem. –SH *

2: 09 am

* It’s your fault because Gregory is ill and is snoring loud enough to wake the dead. –MH *

2:10 am

* I’m not responsible for your boyfriend’s poor health. –SH *

2:10 am

* I say you are. You dragged him through the freezing rain for four hours this evening. He was completely chilled. –MH *

2:11 am

* John says, “That’s not how it fucking works. Tell your brother to give Greg some Night Nurse and prop him up.” –SH *

2:11am

* Tell Dr. Watson I said thank you. –MH *

2:12 am

* “You’re welcome, now bugger off,” says John. –SH *

Mycroft set his mobile down and looked at his partner. Greg had rolled onto his back, his mouth agape. The most horrific sounds were coming from it. An increasingly louder and louder nasal drone followed each snort. Greg choked and then coughed. Mycroft took advantage of the brief arousal.

“Gregory,” Mycroft nudged the man gently. “Gregory,” he spoke a little more loudly.

“Huh?” Greg blinked sleepily. “Wha’s wrong?”

“Dear, you’re snoring. Can we make you more comfortable?”

“Oh, M’sorry.” He sat up and turned to plump up his pillows. Mycroft rose and got more pillows from the closet and helped Greg get more elevated.

“Thanks love.” Greg sniffed.

“Would you like some Night Nurse?”

A liquid gurgle followed a deep sniff. Mycroft winced at the sound.

“Or perhaps a tissue?” Mycroft asked hopefully. “It might help if you’d blow your nose.”

“Nah, m’fine.” Greg rolled to his side and drifted back off.

It was quiet. Blessedly quiet. Mycroft crawled under the duvet and settled on his side facing away from Greg. He was almost asleep when the snorting started again. “You don’t sound fine.” Mycroft muttered wearily. He turned over, startled when he realized Greg had slid down his pillow pile and was facing him directly. Greg began to cough and Mycroft jerked back.

Greg opened his eyes and sat up with a wheeze. Mycroft rubbed his back as he caught his breath. “Sorry love,” he murmured hoarsely and then drained his water glass.

“Why don’t we try this?” Mycroft moved the pillows behind him and lay back opening his arms. “Here,” he offered.

Greg lay down resting his head high on Mycroft’s chest. “I won’t keep you up?”

“No,” Mycroft assured him. Silently adding, No more than you already are.

“ ‘Kay,” Greg mumbled and drifted off.

Mycroft closed his eyes as well. Greg’s breathing deepened. Light snuffles were the only sound. Mycroft started to drift off when a deep snort startled him awake. Suppressing a groan Mycroft stared at the ceiling. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Mycroft stood at the kitchen counter, numbly staring at the kettle. Boil, boil, boil he chanted in his head. It was about 4 am when Greg rolled out of his embrace that he could finally move. Mycroft decided he might as well start his day. Too bad it was Saturday and he had no need to be up so early. Perhaps he could take a nap later.

The kettle clicked off and he prepared his tea. Steep three minutes; add a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar. Mycroft hesitated. Two spoonfuls of sugar he decided. Mycroft figured he needed the extra energy if he’s going to spend the day caring for Gregory, who clearly had a cold but determined to ignore it.

Mycroft cradled the cup and inhaled the scent. He could feel the anticipation building for that first sip. He blew across the top anxious to have a drink of his tea.

A sound like a cross between and a roar and a howl erupted behind him. Mycroft yelped, flinging his tea in the air. The cup landed hard on the rim of the porcelain sink and shattered. He stared forlornly at the broken cup and split tea. A second sternutation caused him to flinch and jolted Mycroft back to his senses.

He turned to see the older man standing in the doorway to the kitchen, sniffling mightily. “Good heavens, Gregory. Bless you.” Mycroft reached in his robe pocket, “May I offer you my hand…” Mycroft trailed off as Greg ran his the sleeve of his robe across his nose. “Or not.”

“S’cuse me,” Greg muttered. His voice was rough and congested.

Mycroft rallied. “Can I get you some tea? The kettle’s just gone off, so the water is still quite warm.”

Greg coughed and cleared his throat. “Why are you up so early? Do you have to go into work?”

“Work? Ah… no. I couldn’t sleep.” Mycroft responded. “You should go back to bed. You don’t sound as if you feel well.”

“M’throat’s a bit scratchy.” Greg conceded.

“Oh dear.” You don’t say, Mycroft added internally. “Go back to bed. I’ll bring you a nice cup of lemon tea with honey.”

“ ’Kay.” Greg turned and shuffled back to the bedroom, sniffling along the way.

Mycroft turned back to the kettle. “And tissues,” he muttered to himself. “I will get you to blow your nose.” He set Greg’s tea to steeping and began to pick out the shards of broken china out of the sink.

* * *

“Here you go.” Mycroft carried two mugs of tea in his hands and a box of tissues was tucked under one arm.

Greg stopped flipping through the TV channels and took the mugs. “Ta, love.” Mycroft set the box of tissues on Greg’s nightstand. “What are those for?”

Mycroft bit back the obvious retort. “I thought you might like your own box nearby. You sound congested.”

His nose wrinkling with the effort, Greg sniffed thickly and then cleared his throat. “I feel fine. It’s just dry in here. We should call the furnace guy on Monday.”

Mycroft closed his eyes briefly and prayed for patience. “Of course.”

Greg sipped his tea and hummed appreciatively. “This is really good.”

“Thank you. I thought you’d appreciate it. Mummy always made it when Sherlock and I had colds.”

“Tastes good, even when you don’t have a cold.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” Mycroft climbed into bed next to Greg. He took his mug from Greg and sipped a bit before setting it aside.

Greg had settled on a rerun of some Star Trek spin off. Mycroft thought maybe he could sleep a bit while Greg watched TV. The noise from the television set was less irritating than the imitation of a chainsaw at which Greg had proven he was most proficient. Exhausted Mycroft snuggled down under the duvet and…

Greg sneezed.

Mycroft felt the bed shake with the force and thought he might have heard the windows rattle. He heard Greg take a deep breath and braced for impact. Another howling roar echoed through the room.

Mycroft peeked out from under the duvet. “Bless you.” He watched Greg rub his nose and sniffle. “Perhaps if you took a moment to clear your nasal passages.” His words lost in the sound of another violent sneeze. He sighed. “Bless you, again.”

“Sorry.” Greg attempted to take a breath through his nose, but managed only a few tight sniffs. He scrubbed again at his reddening nostrils. “It’s so itchy.” He pitched forward, muffling this sneeze in his elbow.

“Dear god, just blow your nose!” Mycroft snapped. He reached over and grabbed a handful of tissues. “Here,” unceremoniously shoving the tissues into Greg’s hand.

Greg stared at Mycroft. “Okay…”

“Well? Go on.” Under Mycroft’s baleful glare, Greg cleared first one side then the other. “Better?” demanded Mycroft. Greg nodded. “Good. I’m going to sleep now.” Mycroft pulled the covers over his head and rolled away.

The bedroom was quiet, except for the sound of the phaser fire from the TV. Greg cleared his throat. “Myc?”

“Yes,” Mycroft mumbled from under the duvet.

“I think I’ve come down with a cold.”

“You think?” Mycroft sat up and looked over at his partner in disbelief. Greg appeared tired and defeated. The bitter words Mycroft had prepared died on his tongue.

Greg sniffled. “Yeah.”

“Come here, dear.” Mycroft opened his arms. Greg crawled into Mycroft’s embrace. As Greg settled in, the younger man gave up on the possibility of sleep for the next few days.


End file.
